Contact
by fluidstatic
Summary: Mark falls asleep on the couch and dreams, fitfully, of the chaos his friends have found themselves suffering in.


Mark lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to find him. He was tired, and he had a lot on his mind. All he wanted was to sleep, especially after the latest news he'd gotten from Collins; Angel wasn't doing well. His T-cells were so low as to be undetectable, his mouth was so full of lesions he couldn't eat, and now he had a nasty cough. What was the cause? Pneumonia? TB? How long did Angel have to live...?

Depressed by this line of thought, Mark turned to work, as always. Buzzline was giving him a dozen assignments every two weeks, and he was worried about the next day's meeting... He ran over his pitch again. "Buzzline deserves a reputation of integrity and devotion to accuracy. I have a plan to revitalize the protocol of camera work and editing in this department, and if you'll hear me out, I'm thinking you will aprec... appreciate... mm."

***

_Hot – Hot – Hot ... Sweat – Sweet...__  
__Wet – Wet – Wet ... Red Heat..._

Mark finds his mind wandering. He stands in a club, among dozens of couples, dancing, gyrating. The music is heavy and metallic, intense. He catches sight of Roger's leather jacket around Mimi's shoulders. Even surrounded by gyrating bodies, she's unmistakable. She is visibly strung out, dancing seductively against Roger's body. He's sweating and whispering in her ear. He looks distracted, maybe a little depressed. Mark's never seen them like this... is something wrong? He tries to train his camera on them, but his arms refuse to comply.

_Please Don't Stop – Please, Please, Don't Stop, Stop...__  
__Stop Stop Stop ... Don't... Please-Please-Please, Please..._

Frustrated, he turns away. He spies Maureen immediately. She is pressed against Joanne, laughing and stroking her hair. Joanne looks drunk, and is laughing too. Their makeup is running. They're both sweating, and moaning a little. They look happy for the moment, but somehow a current of anger runs beneath their dancing. The music intensifies. They begin to dance more feverishly, grinding against each other, Panting more than laughing now. Mark is a little taken aback by this; was Maureen ever this passionate in his bed? Why does Joanne look like she's hiding something? Again he tries to lift his camera, but his arms are like lead.

_Sticky, Licky, Trickle Tickle,__  
__Steamy, Creamy, Stroking, Soaking...__  
__Fire – Fire – Burn – Burn – Yes!_

Mark frowns, turns again, and finds himself looking straight at Collins. Collins is dancing in the midst of a throng; he is sweating profusely, and there's a look of pain on his face. Has he been crying? He dances alone for a moment and then Angel emerges from the crowd of men around him. She is dressed much differently than usual. Her skirt is short black leather, and her nylons are dark blue-violet like a bruise, no doubt covering dozens of lesions on her skin. Her sweater is bright violet and long-sleeved, and the neck is high; she looks uncomfortable in it, but desperate to appear healthy. Her makeup is thick and pale, and her eyeliner is dark, barely camouflaging her sunken eyes. Her warm, sexy style has given way to gothic, cold elegance. Her eyes are hollow, and as she dances around Collins, it's obvious that she is shaking and frail. Mark winces. What's happened to cheerful, strong, pretty Angel? Is this really what disease can do?

_No... Latex__  
__Rubber... Rubber – Fire__  
__Latex Rubber__  
__Latex – Bummer__  
__Lover – Bummer..._

As Angel dances around Collins, her movements slow and her outfit begins to fall apart. First there is a run in her stocking, then her lipstick and eyeliner begin to smear, and soon her sweater is unraveling. In a matter of seconds, she deteriorates from a pretty, stylish woman to a haunted, tragic young man. Now in only his pajamas, somehow he seems more beautiful than Mark has ever seen him. How had he not seen the thin, strong arms, the delicate firm jaw, the lean body? He had hidden them from everyone but Collins, he knew, and now he felt sorry for having never spent time with Angel as a man. He wished he'd asked about Angel's childhood, or his life before Collins. Shaking now, desperate to capture what he's discovered, Mark strains to lift his camera. Just one shot, one real shot of Angel, before he dies. Please. His arms go numb, and the camera crashes to the ground, breaking open and exposing his precious film to the light. No...! Shocked, he darts forward to catch it. Suddenly his arms will move, but it's no use. The camera is ruined.

_Take Me! Take Me! Take Me... Oh...__  
__Take Me... Take Me!_

Suddenly a white sheet falls from the ceiling and drapes itself over Angel like a shroud. He wraps himself in it, and as the music shifts and begins to take a sinister, low pulse, Angel begins to scream.

_Today For You, Tomorrow For Me...__  
__Today -- Me -- Tomorrow You... Tomorrow..._

There's so much pain in his cry that Mark wants to turn away and run, but he's frozen. Either by shock or by dedication, he remains standing there, watching this beautiful tortured body writhe, hearing the voice cry out, knowing that Angel, the Angel everyone knew, was just a bright fragment of a much more complex, dark and lovely human being. Terrified, feeling duty-bound to listen, Mark stands with his precious camera broken at his feet, his head bowed. For once he is unable to hide from the truth. Suddenly, Angel turns away from Collins completely, reaching for Mark, tears streaming down his face.

_You, Love. You, Love.__  
__You, Love... I Love You..._

Stunned out of his frozen state, Mark lifts his head. Love? Did he hear what he thought he did? He stares into Angel's face. Desperate with fever, Angel reaches out, clutching at Mark's arms, and collapses into his chest, weeping.

_I – Love – You..._

Overwhelmed, Mark embraces his friend, heartbroken that he never knew. "I love you," he whispers, knowing this is the last thing he will ever say to Angel. Is this just delirium, or some dying confession? Could they have been lovers? Could Mark even imagine himself loving a man? He isn't certain, and now he might never know for sure. He strokes Angel's back as he sobs bitterly into his shoulder. They stand still amid the dancing, holding each other. After a moment, Angel suddenly lifts his head and presses his cold mouth against Mark's.

_Take Me! Take Me!__  
__I Love You!_

Suddenly the room is plunged into darkness. There is a small commotion of cloth against cloth, bodies pushing away from each other. Angel suddenly slips from Mark's grasp, and before he can fumble for his hand, he is gone. A bright, sickly florescent light comes on over the dance floor, illuminating everyone.

_Um ... wait ... slipped ... shit!_

Roger is walking off the dance floor, visibly angry.  
Mimi is sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth, pale and sweating.

_Ow! Where'd it go? Safe._

Benny is standing over Mimi, talking angrily into his cell phone.  
The word "divorce" crosses his lips.

_Damn! ... I think I missed – don't get pissed._

Joanne is putting on her coat and mumbling into her cell phone at the same time.  
Maureen has stalked off to the bar.

_It Was Bad For Me... Was It Bad For You?_

Mark is stunned. Everything is falling apart; when did this happen? Has he been so immersed in work and self-pity that he has forgotten to watch over his friends? Where is Collins? He needs to be here, to help Mark pacify this disaster... He can't do it alone... When did he become so alone? Before he can move, or even blink, everyone else on the dance floor suddenly erupts, screaming at each other.

_It's Over! It's Over! ... It's Over! It's Over!_

***

Mark woke with a violent start and looked at the clock. It was 2:30 AM and the phone was ringing. He'd fallen asleep on the couch next to it. He reached for it, hesitated. He knew who was calling. He knew exactly what had happened. He didn't want to hear, but he knew that Angel was dead... Holding his breath, he slowly picked up the phone and silently waited for Collins' voice -- the two words they had both been dreading more than anything.

_"It's Over."_


End file.
